A Brief History
Donna Brinkerhoff
I was born on October 19, 1931, the third child of Melvin Edward Lords and
Leona Eva Herbst Lords in Driggs, Idaho. My mother always told me that I was actually
born in Wyoming because the border between Wyoming and Idaho ran through the farm
on which I was born but because the nearest town was Driggs, that is what my birth
certificate reads.
We only lived in Driggs a short time, then moved to St. Anthony, Idaho where all
my growing up years took place.
One of my very earliest recollections is of climbing up onto the dish cupboard and
tipping it over on me, breaking all of the dishes. I don’t recall being hurt, I just had a few
cuts.
As a child, I was called Donna Lee and it wasn't until I reached High School that I
became simply Donna. In fact, I had a favorite uncle who used to put me on his knee
and sing a little song to me. "Donna Lee had to pee under a tree." I was most
embarrassed and suitably outraged, but he was still my favorite uncle.
I was proud of my last name and often told people that I was one of the Lord’s
children. My father often told us children that we should never do anything that would
dishonor our good name. He would also tell us, "You are as good as anyone, else but
you are no better than anyone else either."
As a child, I was very small and slender. My best friend and I weighed the same
(52 pounds) in the third grade. There was only one smaller child in the class who
weighed in at 45 pounds.
I was a very fearful child, timid and afraid of everything. The dark held special
terror for me. I also was afraid of animals, unknown people and places, lightning and
thunder, of being alone, and different situations. (And I must admit that many of the
same fears plague me today.)
One of the most traumatic incidents that I remember took place when I was five
years old. I managed to get myself locked in the train station there in St. Anthony. I felt
important that morning when my mother asked me to go to Westerburg’s grocery store
and buy one pound of hamburger. I hadn’t been allowed to go alone before and I felt
grownup and confidant as I walked to the store.
Once there, I acquired the item she’d asked for and Brother Westerburg put the
charge slip carefully in my bag and I started for home. (Brother Westerburg knew
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whose family all the children belonged to and he’d always call each child by their Dad’s
first name. He had called me Mel that day and I couldn’t quite see the reason.)
As I neared the old train station, I decided to go inside and take advantage of the
restroom and soft toilet tissue they had inside. At home we had only an outhouse and a
Sears catalog and, to a five year old, the facilities in the train station seemed like the
ultimate in luxury.
There was also a whole rack of train schedules and small pamphlets. If a child
wasn’t too greedy, he’d be allowed to take two or three of these. It was very exciting to
procure some of these important-looking documents even though I couldn’t read them.
This day, however, I arrived at the station in between trains. The stationmaster
had not seem me enter as I’d gone directly to the restroom. He left to go home and
locked up the station securely. You can imagine my panic as I found myself alone in
the large, old, dark building. At first it was hard for me to comprehend what had
happened. I cried, then prayed in desperation from a terrible fear as I pulled and kicked
at the heavy double doors. I could not budge them.
I could see the telephone inside the locked and barred cage where the Station
Master sat as he sold the tickets. Had I been able to get to it, I probably would not have
known whom to call as my parents did not have a phone and I wasn't even sure how it
worked.
I finally gave up on the doors and prayed with all the fervor that a five year old
could muster. Then I began systematically to try to open the big old windows. They
were heavy and some were painted shut. They had not been opened for years and I
could not move them.
I began to think of my mother and the worry she'd have over me. My greatest
fear was that I’d be locked in all night and the prospect of spending the night alone in
the dark old building filled my soul with great foreboding. A terrible fear overwhelmed
me like a crushing burden and I was scarcely able to move.
As I was about to give up all hope, I managed to move slightly one of the
windows in the front of the building. These two windows were probably the only ones
that had been opened when travelers needed a little fresh air. With all my frail strength,
I struggled and pulled until I was able to raise it about one foot.
I remember thinking that if a policeman saw me leaving the building, he’d think I
was a thief and arrest me on the spot. I checked carefully to make sure I had the
hamburger and the charge slip with my dad’s name on it, then looked to see if anyone
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was watching. I threw the bag out the window, then lowered myself over the edge and
dropped the six feet to the ground. Of course there was no way I could shut the
window. I was so delighted to be free that I ran for home as fast as I could go.
When I arrived home, my mother scolded me for dawdling and I crept off alone
too ashamed to tell her what had kept me so long. I never told her about it until I was
grown.
I've wondered sometimes since how perplexed the Station Master must have
been upon his return to find the window open after he’d so securely locked up the
station. The Lord did answer the fervent prayer of that five year old. I will always be
grateful that he saved me from such a terrifying experience. I never went into the train
station alone again.
At the age of 10, our pickup was hit by another car and my head was cut which
required some stitches. (I loved the attention and thought I looked very beautiful with
my head all swathed in bandages.) Later as I was running through a snowdrift, I fell and
cut my head on a barbed wire fence causing more scars on the same side of my head.
As a child I suffered from severe leg aches and my mother rubbed my legs with
alcohol until I could go to sleep.
It seemed like every winter, I had to lose two or three weeks of school because of
flu. Many nights my mother slept with me and held the washbasin for me to throw up. I
would lose so much weight that my parents worried about me.
Winters were harsh and cold in Idaho. We had no central heating and I
remember feeling cold a lot of the time. Mother heaped many quilts on us at night and
put heated flat irons wrapped in towels at our feet to warm our beds.
As little girls, we wore long brown stockings and dresses to school. We were not
allowed to go into the building before school and when it was very cold, we’d stand
there and shiver until they opened the doors. Recess was always outside, no matter
the temperature. My girlfriends and I would huddle together in the cubby holes (where
coal was put into the basement) to get out of the wind.
Once when I was in the first grade, I was waiting for the doors to open and I was
so cold, I started to cry. The teacher came out and asked me why I was crying. I told
her it was because I was so cold. "Don't be such a baby," she told me.
St. Anthony was a quiet, safe little town in which to grow up. The road ran
through the middle of town across the Snake River. Next to the river there was a lovely
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little green park where we had great fun. We loved to go there and swing, or slide down
the slippery slide and picnic.
The population of St. Anthony hovered around 3000 people so there was a
continuity there that seemed to promote peace and comfort. People were friendly and
neighborly and willing to help each other.
There was a distinct class division between the north side and the south side of
the river. We lived on the south side as well as south of the railroad tracks, but I didn't
realize that it was a stigma until I reached High School. I did sometimes wonder why
the 1st Ward (north-siders) always met in the upstairs of the Tabernacle and the 2nd
Ward (south-siders) met in the basement. But that aside, my childhood was fun and I
was a happy child with a loving family.
Our summers were spent happy and carefree, riding stick horses, making dirt
roads for our little cars, swimming in the canal, reading library books, working in the
garden and learning to crochet and embroidery.
I had a very good friend named Leila Pat. She lived directly behind our house.
Her parents were in their 50's or 60's. My parents were in their 30's, so because her
parents were older, she was seldom allowed to come over to visit me. My mother knew
that Mrs. Greenhalgh didn't enjoy neighborhood children over at her home so the only
recourse at play was to toss a ball back and forth across the back fence that separated
our yards.
This friendship continued until we were in the fifth grade. At that time, I felt that
Pat betrayed me and we were never close after that. One day Pat took a $5.00 bill from
her mother’s Bible and she invited me to go to town to spend it. We bought candy and
had about $4.00 left over. We put the left over money in a fruit jar and buried it. We
probably didn't hide it very well and someone found it. When we discovered the money
was missing, she accused me of stealing it. Nothing I could do or say would convince
her otherwise. So she turned from me and told our other friends what she thought I had
done. Heartbroken, I never had a great deal to do with her after that except in a casual
way in school or church.
Then my best friend became Gay Faucett. She was not LDS, but her standards
were very high and she became my friend and confidante until I married and moved
away. Every summer we spent many hours reading comic books, playing with paper
dolls, playing cards, jacks, and jumping rope, and occasionally going to the roller
skating rink. We both also loved movies, especially musicals. We saw one every week.
I think we enjoyed the walk home as much as the movies discussing boys and our
hopes and dreams.
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Gay and I had so much fun together. One summer when we were about 15, I
tended Ken (who was about 4) and Gay tended Skip, her sister’s child (about the same
age). We took them on bike rides, planned picnics, took them to the park, etc. We
would even decide what to cook for dinner each evening and experimented on our
families, making apple pies, devil’s food cakes, and many other exotic dishes. Our
families really appreciated our gourmet efforts.
Gay was a true friend and we did everything together except that Gay did not
attend church or church activities with me. She helped me when I had a problem with
my studies. She was very smart, and ranked first in our class of 80 students (I ranked
fifth). She was the class valedictorian.
The first house I remember in St. Anthony was a two-room log house that Dad
purchased with a cow and a calf. I remember Mother setting off a sulphur bomb to kill
all the bed bugs. We went to Grandma’s to spend the weekend while the house aired
out. We also had a mouse problem and my folks were always battling that problem.
Later Dad had the outside of the house stuccoed and added two more rooms. We
carried water from our neighbor’s well to drink and all other water we got from the canal
that ran along our yard. The canal was bordered by five large lilac bushes and one
yellow rosebush. (I still love lilacs and yellow roses to this day.)
In all my growing-up years, we never had indoor plumbing. I remember when we
were able to get city water to the outside corner of our house, then later Dad piped it
into the kitchen. Our first water heater and refrigerator was installed after World War II.
Our black kitchen wood stove heated most of the house as well as served as our
cooking stove. Later Dad got an oil stove for the living room and two large tanks for oil
set right by our front door (not very pretty, but functional).
In our backyard, Dad built a fruit cellar. It was a mound of dirt, hallowed out and
reinforced with timbers. There were two doors going down into it. One at the beginning
and one at the foot about five feet apart. These were covered with straw to protect our
canned fruit, and vegetables from freezing. Later Dad built a cinder block above ground
storage place that was easier to get into.
Every summer the kids went along the highways gathering up pop and beer
bottles. Mother would put the wash tub on top of four lava rocks outside in the yard,
build a fire underneath and boil the bottles to sterilize them. Then we would make
homemade root beer. We used to laugh at suppertime to see all of our places set with
beer bottles. Dad teased us about what the Bishop would say if he saw us drinking all
that beer.
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Mother heated her wash water outside in the summer to save heating up the
house. We also cleaned our dry cleanable clothes by washing them in white gas
outside to avoid getting sick by the fumes.
My Dad and Mom always raised a large garden that provided us with all of our
vegetables for summer, then Mother canned the surplus for winter use. She also
canned peaches, peas, fruit cocktail, jam, and meat.
We had pigs, chickens, and cows. My fear and dislike of animals stems from my
dealings with the animals around our place. It was my job to drive those cantankerous
cows to the pasture and I was so afraid of the bulls, when I had to go gather them up for
milking. I learned to milk cows and got pretty good at it except when a cow would step
in my milk bucket or swipe me with her dirty tail. Once I tried to milk a cow with false
fingernails, she kicked me off the stool.
Another frightening ordeal for me was when the pigs got out, Darrell would yell at
me to head off a big old sow. I’d do my best until she came face to face with me then
I’d turn and run bringing down everyone’s ire against me. I certainly didn't want to end
up as some old pig's dinner so I wasn't much good helping to get the pigs back in their
pens.
The chickens also were not my friends although they weren't as frightening as
the cows and pigs. When I went to gather the eggs, they would peck at my hands.
Dad ordered baby chicks each spring and they arrived at the train station in large
boxes with air holes. At home, we put the boxes behind the stove to keep them warm.
They were smelly and noisy and pecked at each other a lot.
The one thing I did like about chickens was that you could take half dozen eggs
to the local grocer and he'd give you enough money to go to the movie.
Mother made her own soap out in the yard. It was truly grandma’s lye soap. It
was very harsh on the skin but she only used it to wash clothes. She’d put it into a meat
grinder and make soap powder which dissolved much better.
There were no clothes dryers in our day so we hung our clothes outside to dry.
In the wintertime they froze solid. After an hour or two, we’d get them in, stiff as a board
and drape them around the kitchen until they finally got dry.
As we had no refrigerator, Dad butchered only in the winter. He would quarter up
a pig, put it in a white sack and hang it up in the shed to freeze solid. Then if we wanted
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pork chops for dinner, he’d bring in the quarter, put it on the kitchen table and cut off the
meat with a hacksaw.
In the summer, we put the bucket of warm milk in the ditch and stirred it until it
cooled. To set jello, we put it in the windowsill in a cool bedroom. We also put a pan of
milk there to let the cream rise. Mother skimmed off the cream and whipped it for our
desserts. It was so good.
We also made butter by shaking cream in a jar. I also remember the first
margarine that was sold. Since Idaho was a dairy state, it was not allowed to sell
something that resembled butter. So it came in a plastic bag with a little bubble of
yellow coloring so you had to break the bubble releasing the color, squeeze the
margarine until it was yellow throughout, then mold the plastic bag into a rectangle, and
cut it into cubes.
One of the activities I really enjoyed was going to the mountains to pick
huckleberries and to get out wood. Dad would sometimes bend down a small sapling
pine tree, lift us upon it and we thought we were riding a fine horse as it bounced up and
down.
Once he took us out into the sagebrush to see millions of crickets that were
infesting the area.
My sister and I looked forward to the arrival of the catalogs. As soon as they
arrived, we looked through them putting our initials by the dresses and clothes we liked.
It was almost as much fun as going shopping.
One of the things that we did that we looked forward to each spring was to play
on the newly ploughed garden spot. Each year, after a man came to plough and harrow
the garden, our family gathered that evening, took off our shoes and played "steal the
bacon" in the soft, cool brown dirt.
There were also many summer evenings when our family went out in the road
(we lived on a dead end street) to play baseball. We loved having our Dad and Mom
come out to play with us. We lost a few balls in the canal over the years. It usually
ended up with many of the other neighborhood children joining in with us.
We had a small black and white dog we called Ring. We all loved him dearly.
He loved to ride between the motor and fender of the car. Whenever, we’d go to town,
he’d jump in his favorite place and off we’d go. He even rode the school bus that way to
the delight of all the children. (Let me explain here. I only remember having a school
bus one year. We walked all the rest of the time.)
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Schools were run much differently than they are now. A principal or teacher was
treated very respectfully by the community. My first grade teacher was Miss Jones, my
second grade, Miss Walker, and my third grade, Miss Stone. I idolized all of them.
Then came the fourth grade and Miss Costley. (She was also the principal of Lincoln
fourth grade school.) To put it mildly, she was a tyrant and bred fear in every child that
approached her. She so filled my fearful little soul with terror that I prayed that
Heavenly Father would let me die the night before I started fourth grade. She had
taught there so long, she was now teaching the children of her former students. As the
years progressed, she became even more cross and short-tempered and would stomp
around the classroom threatening, slapping, and shaking the children. Every day of my
fourth grade experience was spent in fear and trembling. There was one boy she
periodically removed from the classroom and beat because he was slow at learning. I
did survive, however, but there are no fond memories of the fourth grade.
In fifth grade, I started Central School and completed my education at St.
Anthony High School.
Our family have always been great sleepwalkers. Even as a child I did my share.
In fact I did it so often, if ever I made a move at night, my Dad would awaken and get up
to see what I was doing. Once I got up, put kindling wood in the kitchen stove and lit
the fire. Another time I removed all the books from our library table. I walked about a
block home from a baby sitting job, told my mother the kids were misbehaving and
remembered none of it the next morning.
My brother, Darrell, always was yelling in his sleep. One night I returned home
from a movie, and my brother, sound asleep kept insisting, "Thar's gold behind that thar
wall." He was famous for his Tarzan yells that would cause everyone to leap out of their
beds in the dead of night. Once when an aunt and uncle were visiting us and we’d
come home late, Darrell told us there was a bat in the house. Of course, no one
believed him because he was always sleep talking, but this time it turned out to be true
and before long, Dad and Uncle Paul were up chasing that bat in their underwear. My
cousins and I thought it was funny.
I was not a particularly happy teenager. I felt inferior and ugly and I was very
shy. I did get good grades and I had Gay as my friend and we had great times together.
I never dated until I was a Senior. My first date was with LaMar Arnold. I spent my first
date listening to LaMar tell me how sad he was over breaking up with his girlfriend,
Marie. I remember only dating him twice.
One year when Gay and I were Juniors, we sought admission into the "Pep Club"
(that elite organization that cheered at all the ball games). Each member wore a
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beautiful maroon school sweater. We were denied admission and felt pretty snubbed,
so we ordered ourselves school sweaters anyway. (The only difference was that we
couldn't have a "P" on our sweater.) These sweaters cost $50.00 each, an unheard
amount to spend for a sweater, so we had to save our money many months to be able
to afford it. There must have been some feedback from the parents of kids who were
denied membership in the Club because the next year we were invited to join to which
we politely declined.
As a teenager, I earned money chiefly from babysitting and pickup up spuds
during fall harvest. One summer I helped a young woman do housework after she’d
had a baby. The going rate for baby sitting was $1.00 per evening. One weekend, I
tended a little girl from Friday morning until Sunday night. I earned $5.00 for that length
of time.
When I was fourteen, my sister, Vonda, contracted strep throat. In those days,
there were no antibiotics and she developed rheumatic fever that so enlarged her heart
that she became an invalid.
At that time, my parents took Vonda to Salt Lake to see if something could be
done for her. The doctor in St. Anthony had told my parents that she could not live long.
There in Salt Lake, they were given the same prognosis. They returned home tired and
despondent and when they turned the corner onto our street, they could see that there
had been a fire in our humble little home. I cannot imagine their despair.
I had come home from school one cold afternoon and tried to start a fire to warm
up the house. The wood was wet and I couldn't get the fire to start. I did something I’d
been told never to do, I poured gasoline on the wood. There must have been a spark
left over from my first attempts and it exploded, causing me to drop the can spilling gas
all over the kitchen. The kitchen was in flames instantly. I fled from the house running
to our neighbors who called the fire department. In the meantime, our next door
neighbor came in and put out the fire with the garden hose. We would have surely lost
our house if he hadn't acted so quickly.
My hair and eyebrows were singed but I suffered no serious effects. The good
neighbors rallied around, cleaned up the smoke filled rooms, replaced the linoleum and
curtains and painted the rooms. They weren't quite finished when my parents returned
home. There was still too much smoke smell remaining in the house so they took
Vonda to my Uncle’s house in Ashton for a few more days. We were blessed that my
life was saved and the house was still intact.
At this point, I’d like to tell you a little about my parents and brothers and sisters.
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Dad
My Dad was a happy fellow, always smiling and telling jokes. At the age of
twelve, he lost his arm in a farm accident but he didn't seem to notice he was missing
an arm and neither did we. He could do anything that other dad’s could do. For
example, he could drive a stick shift car and eat an ice cream cone at the same time.
He could milk a cow faster than most men. He and Darrell were always trying to see
who could finish faster at milking cows. He could chop wood and he was very strong
with his left hand. Once he was fitted for a prosthesis but it proved to be too heavy and
he never used it much and finally abandoned it altogether.
Dad sometimes asked me to scrub his hand when it got really dirty. I also
threaded his belt through the loops on his Sunday pants and tied his Sunday shoes.
He loved to eat cheese, bread and milk, and white cake with raisins that he
dunked in his milk. He was also very fond of coffee and tried many years to give up this
bad habit.
In the wintertime, he would pop a dishpan full of popcorn and we'd sit around the
kitchen stove with our feet on the oven reading library books. He was especially fond of
Zane Grey westerns.
When we were small, we contacted measles. In those days, the town marshal
came to our house and posted a red sign that quarantined the whole family for two
weeks or the duration of the disease. No one was allowed to leave or enter the house.
Each morning Dad went out and tore a piece of the sign off so by the end of two weeks,
the sign was gone.
As a special treat Dad cut up thin slices of potatoes and cooked them on top of
the stove (not unlike our potato chips of today). Then he’d sprinkle salt on them making
a mess on the stove.
Sometimes he brought home a bag of candy (he especially like Boston Baked
Beans), or an ice cream cone for us. (I personally would not have chosen that particular
kind of candy but knowing how I loved sweets, I ate it anyway.)
I only remember one spanking from my Dad. Darrell and I had gone up to
Lincoln School to swing. I guess we were gone too long, and Dad didn't know where we
were so he called and called and of course we were so far away we couldn't hear him.
So I remember getting a spanking that day.
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Something Dad always insisted on was that bedtime was 9:00 p.m. Not only he
and Mom retired at that time, but the lights went out and everyone else in the house
went to bed also. I remember many nights when I sat in bed putting rollers in my hair
for school the next day after the lights went out.
Dad was a very honest man with great integrity. He believed in putting in a full
day’s work for his pay. He worked very hard all of his life to provide for us. He attended
church regularly and was often in the Sunday School Superintendency. He read church
books a great deal as he got older.
One early lesson Dad taught me was to always pay tithing on every cent I
earned. He kept a black recipe box on the top shelf of the cupboard in which the
children put their tithing. He kept a paper in the box telling how much each child had
paid, then we’d take it to the Bishop after we’d accumulated a small amount.
Dad loved to go to western movies and the family tried to go once a week when
there was enough money.
I only saw my Dad cry once, that was the day my sister died. Darrell and I had
been notified at school so we walked home and our Dad met us at the gate. We threw
our arms around each other and all wept.
He was a loving, hard working father and I felt a great loss when he died. Even
though I was married and a mother of four children, I felt such a loss for the kind, loving
father and protector that he’d been to me.
Poems by Donna Lee Lords Brinkerhoff
Mother’s Busy Today
Run along little child,
Mother’s tired today.
Don’t shout so loud.
Go outside and play.
There are dishes to do
And books I would read.
There’s the house to clean
And the family to feed.
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You’re so very wild
And noisy, you see
So run along, dear
And let mother be.
How the years have flown
Since you went away.
Since I heard your sweet voice
Asking me to play.
I wish I could bring you
Once more to my knee.
I’d do things so differently
Little child, you see.
I’d frolic and play
And tell stories too.
And show just how much
I really loved you.
On Repentance and Fireplaces
Today, I cleaned the fireplace
Of all its soot and grime
And thought with satisfaction,
No more dust >til wintertime.
And as I cleaned, I chanced to think
How wonderful it would be
If I could cleanse my soul and heart
Of all iniquity.
If I could scrub away the dirt
And leave me shining bright,
Just once a year like my fireplace.
Then I’d surely be alright.
And once again, a thought came clear,
That this is surely true.
God cleanses us of all our sins,
If we but, ask Him to.
Of course, we have to change our ways
And try to sin no more
And have a true repentance
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To enter at His door.
Vonda was the oldest of four children born to Melvin Edward Lords and Leona
Eva Herbst. She was born November 23, 1927 (President Heber J. Grant’s birthday) in
Leslie, Idaho. She was blessed January 1, 1928 by her Grandfather Joseph Charles
Lords at Leslie Ward, Lost River Stake. The family moved from Leslie to Driggs, Idaho
in March 1931.
She had a brother, Darrell Melvin born June 21, 1929, a sister, Donna Lee, born
October 19, 1931, and a brother, Kenneth H. born August 21, 1942. The family lived in
Leslie, Idaho, Mackay, Idaho, Teton Basin, around Driggs, Idaho, and Ashton and St.
Anthony, Idaho.
On October 25, 1933, the family was sealed for time and all eternity in the Salt
Lake temple.
The family lived in a three-room house by the canal. They didn’t have much
money.
She was baptized February 1, 1936 by Herbert Benson, and confirmed February
2, 1936, by her father, Melvin E. Lords at the St. Antony 2nd Ward Fast Meeting. She
started school when six years old, her first teacher being Thelma Richman, second
grade teacher was Miss MacDonald, third grade teacher Elaine Stone, fourth grade
teacher was Margaret Costly, fifth grade teacher was Alice Bechlieter, and her sixth
grade teacher was Erma Birch.
In February 1945, when Vonda was seventeen, she came home sick from
school. I was over to Fawsetts visiting. She came to the door and told me she didn’t
feel well. I took her home and put her to bed. She complained of a very sore throat and
aching in her legs. We didn’t have a thermometer right then so I didn’t take her
temperature. The next day she wasn’t any better. The third day we called Dr. Soule.
He said she had a bad case of strep throat. He left a prescription for her. He came
back every day for ten days then told us he thought we ought to get her up so she could
get her strength back. We got her up, but she was so weak and tired, it taxed her
strength to even sit up. Finally she got so she went back to school. One of her
teachers, Mrs. Nagle, told us, AI used to look down at Vonda’s little pale face and
wondered how she could stay in school. She looked so ill.
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While growing up, Vonda was a good worker. She would help weed the big
garden and help pick raspberries and strawberries. Her mother took big dish pans of
raspberries and strawberries to Dr. Soule to pay their doctor bill.
Finally, the summer was about over and she started to swell. I called the doctor
and told him how concerned I was over her. He said to take her to the hospital. She
vomited once as we got out of the car. Dr. Rigby had phoned ahead. The house doctor
examined her as soon as we got there. He didn’t tell us much. They put her to bed,
told us we didn’t need to stay with her; but I didn’t go home. I got a room at the hotel.
The nurses were very friendly young girls who used to gather in her room, for
they loved her company as she was full of fun and made friends easily. The nurse
pricked her finger and took a blood test almost every day, but she never complained.
She got flowers from a lot of different people. Her room was always filled with flowers.
When I visited her, she would say I can’t eat so much rice. The food didn’t appeal to
her and the sulpha drug made her deathly sick. She vomited a lot. I stayed with her all
the time I could. She was on a bland, fat-free diet, and when she would see it, it would
make her nauseous. She had several blood transfusions.
While she was in the hospital, I had been staying at the hotel. I met one of the
Estelle Empey’s daughters, Monta, downtown. She talked me into going home with her.
I called the hospital and told them to tell Vonda I wouldn’t be in that night. They failed to
tell her and when I didn’t come, she began to worry; and she got into such a state of
nerves, another visitor called to Estelle’s and wanted to know if I was there. I told her I
asked the nurse to tell Vonda where I was, but that didn’t undo the harm it caused her
and the worry she went through.
I went home on V.J. Day on the bus. When the news came through, a little boy
on the bus clapped his hands and said, “Goody, goody, now I can have a new little red
wagon and Daddy will come home from the War.”
After being 21 days in the hospital and she didn’t get any better, I called the
doctor. He said you just as well take her home, but she is a very sick girl and it could go
either way for her. I told him how she was vomiting, and he said take away all
medication. I bought a basin and we put her in the car to take her home. She vomited
on the way home. Her poor little thin arms were full of lumps where they had given her
penicillin shots every four hours every day she had been in the hospital. Also she was
marked where they had given blood transfusions and glucose. Dr. Rigby would look at
her and call her the girl with the million dollar smile.
Our neighbors were wonderful bringing in food, flowers, and visiting her. The
Christensen girls brought her books and visited her everyday. She got too many bed
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jackets and silk nightgowns. Darrell got her class ring for her which pleased her so
much. We got a little portable record player and got her some records which she
enjoyed. Her senior class brought her flowers and visited with her. Her teachers
brought her chocolates, but she couldn’t eat them. I combed her hair and tied a ribbon
around it. She had large, beautiful blue eyes. She looked so lovely and always smiled
whenever she had visitors. Vonda received her graduation diploma from Seminary but
she couldn’t attend the exercises. She felt badly about it, but was very big and brave.
Vonda had Ken in bed with her a lot. She would tell him stories and sing little
songs to him. It occupied many hours of time and kept him occupied. Ken was three
years old.
I got a syringe to give her shots, but I never used it as the doctor said not to give
her any drugs until they just had to, as she would become used to the drug and they
would have to continue to enlarge the dosages.
We decided to move to Marysville where Melvin rode the canal. We took the kids
out of school a month early, which was a good thing for Vonda. After we got settled,
she stayed in bed a part of every day. She developed a very bad cough. She went
down to Grandma and Grandpa Lords for a visit. She helped Grandpa weed his corn.
One day while she was going through the fence between Fawntella Luke’s place and
Grandpa’s, she blacked out. She seemed to enjoy herself, reading a lot. She thought
she would like to work, so she cut spuds one day, and then the next day she couldn’t go
back. Alvie and Bertha Lords came one Sunday after she had blacked out, and said
“Why don’t you take her to Dr. Rigby at Rexburg?”
We took her to Dr. M.F. Rigby at Rexburg. He told us, upon examining her, she
had a very bad leak in her heart. I told him Dr. Soule hadn’t told us a thing about it.
She had been going to Dr. Soule every month since her sickness in February when he
told us she had strep throat. Dr. Rigby said she had Rheumatic Fever. We took her
home after he took sedimentation tests and gave her vitamin shots. We took her down
twice a week. He said it would be a change to get her out of the house. He told us to
fix up a bed out of doors for her, which we did. She stayed out of doors all of the time
when the weather was good. She was so patient, kind, understanding, and never
complained. He wanted her on a high protein diet. She didn’t like beef steaks or liver,
but tried to eat them. She got so she vomited every day and couldn’t keep her vitamin
and iron medicine down.
In the evenings, she would be bored, so we would take her for a ride in the car.
We also took her to a movie once a week until we found it was too hard on her. Her
school friends wrote to her. She had been an “A” student all through school. She loved
to write essays, poems, and read a lot. She was fond of reading religious books. She
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got a lot of enjoyment out of collecting movie actors and actresses photographs. She
joined a fan club and had quite a collection. Up until she became ill, she had perfect
attendance in school.
When Vonda learned of the death of Joyce Stanley, her cousin who was only
twelve years old, she wrote the following poem:
There is a place for little Joyce
Where she will be among the choice
In that bright and happy place
You will see her loving face.
You will hold her in your arms again
And see all your happy kin
Be good and clean and kind
And Joyce there you’ll find.
It’s just a little while,
So be brave and smile.
Everyday we would rub her legs, give her aspirin, take her temperature, and
keep a record of it for the doctor. We took her on a picnic on the 4th of July up in the
hills; but we never got to stay but a minute as the high altitude made her heart pound.
She couldn’t breathe, so we never took her in the hills again. She had a great desire to
swim and ride her bike, but the doctor said no strenuous exercise.
The next morning we got up and did the dishes. I was fixing her something to
eat. We had been playing seven-up with her to pass the time away. She finally lay
down her cards and said, “I am too tired to play anymore.” She gasped once and was
gone. I ran over to Fawsetts and told them to send some help. They called Dr. Soule.
Virginia Fawsett came over. The doctor said there was nothing to be done. This was
on December 7, 1945.
The Christmas following her death, Fawsetts gave Ken a rocking horse and all of
us a Christmas gift. They were so good to us. Mrs. Fawsett tended Ken while I worked
and he loved it there and she was so good to him.
She couldn’t eat hardly a thing. Everything made her sick and would start her to
vomiting. Cecille Sorrell brought her over some delicious apples, but she only ate one.
They made her deathly sick. Her condition remained about the same for several
months.
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After we got Vonda home form the hospital, Ida and Ray Peterson wanted us to
take her to Salt Lake to a chiropractor or nature doctor. They were so sure he could do
something for her. We didn’t have a car until Oral Lords came to our rescue and told us
he would take us down. The night before we left, our wonderful neighbors collected
close to $100 and gave it to us. The clubs and businessmen wanted to fly her back to
Mayo Brothers Clinic but we had decided to take her to Dr. Shields. I took the flowers
her graduating class gave her and made a corsage for her and me to wear down to Salt
Lake. We had a lot of tire trouble on the way down, one flat tire after another. After
having stopped several times, we finally made it to Della Beck’s. She took us in, and
did everything to make our stay pleasant. The next day we took her to the doctor. He
gave her a treatment, and gave us high hopes he could cure her. He said she will be
able to eat almost everything from cabbage to onions, and strangely enough after her
first treatment she did get so she could eat almost everything. He got her out of bed
and on to her feet.
The night we came home on the train was very trying. It was during war times
and service men had priority. We stood in line for almost an hour and finally got on the
train. The service men lay in the aisle and gave Vonda their seats. When Kenny, who
was about three, wanted a drink the men were very good. They climbed over luggage
and men and finally made it back with a drink for him. Her feet were badly swollen from
hanging down so long. Darrell met us at the train and was pleased to see Vonda
walking off the train.
During the time she was in the hospital, she had the elders every night. Her faith
was tremendous and she never gave up. She said it always made her feel better to
have the elders come in and she could sleep better.
We had several people who asked to sit up but she didn’t want anyone but her
Dad and I to care for her. Fawntella did stay one night. I always slept with her so I
could tell if she moved or needed anything during the night.
Our Bishop, Leonard Jensen, was so faithful, he came every day to see if there
was anything he could do. After we came back from Salt Lake, the three weeks went
quickly by. She slept well, ate well, and talked about going places. One Saturday,
Darrell took her to the show and had a cool drink and ice cream at the peerless soda
fountain. She helped me get Thanksgiving dinner. She ate with us at the table on her
birthday. When the Bishop came that night, she said, “See I did get out of that old bed.”
The Bishop said, “Yes, that makes me very happy.” We were so thrilled to see her get
out of bed.
It was the two days before she passed away that we gave her a sedative which
had codeine in it. She became delirious, got out of bed, and said some pretty strong
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Donna Brinkerhoff
words. We never gave her anymore. The night before she died, we were up all night.
She put in a very bad night. The old wind was howling and moaning. She called them
trade winds.
The following is what Donna wrote about what she remembers of Vonda.
I remember Vonda as a motherly sort of a sister, one who had a great love and
protective feeling for her younger brothers and sister. She was particularly fond of the
baby, Kenny. She always tried to persuade me to make right choices.
Once when I was about twelve and she about sixteen, we went through a period
of time when we were very close. My best friend, Gay, Vonda, and myself would go to
the movies on Friday night. We’d start out by going to the Roxy Theater to see a double
feature. We’d get out about 10:00 then rush down to the Rex Theater where we’d see
another double feature. The last movie would let out about 12:30 and we’d walk home
from town rehashing the movies and giggling all the way home. No one could persuade
us that four features were a lot of movies to see in one night and I will always remember
the great times we had coming home at that time.
When we were about ten and fourteen, Mother made us matching cream-colored
crocheted blouses with ribbons at the neck, sleeves, and waist. We felt so proud as we
went to the 24th of July Celebration together.
Both Darrell and Vonda had dark hair and mine was light. Some of the neighbors
used to like to tease me and tell me I was a “stray” and didn’t belong to the family.
Vonda would always reassure me that I truly was one of the family.
Once when I was very young, we went to see Grandma in Lewisville. All of us
kids went over to an aunt’s place to play with her kids. We had left Grandma’s before
supper was ready and when we arrived at our aunt’s home, they had already eaten their
supper. We played very hard outside that evening and when we came inside, I was
very hunger. Vonda didn’t think it would be polite to tell anyone that we had not had any
supper so we crawled into bed feeling pretty empty. She reassured me that if I’d go to
sleep, that soon it would be morning and we could get up and have a good breakfast.
The next morning turned out to be Fast Sunday and we were hustled off to Sunday
School without any breakfast.
Vonda loved records, popular songs and especially movies. During her long
illness, she longed to be well so she could to go the movies again. A few weeks before
she passed away, she regained enough of her strength that Daddy could carry her into
the theater to see a movie.
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Donna Brinkerhoff
I missed her very much when she died and I sometimes think of her now after all
these years and wish she could have lived so that we could have shared our
association with each other and our families.
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